


Strings

by PorcelainRose



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bedtime Stories, Children, Coffee Shops, Homelessness, M/M, Music, Oneshot, Snow, Tea Shop, Winter, eren x levi - Freeform, ereri, levi x eren - Freeform, light rail station, riren - Freeform, rivaere - Freeform, violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:44:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5787436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorcelainRose/pseuds/PorcelainRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One snowy morning, Eren happens upon a tattered man and his violin.<br/>~<br/>Just a little oneshot full of fluff~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strings

Soft. Cold. Quiet.

Little white flakes danced soundlessly toward the ground. Some glinted in the light, creating a serene sparkling in the surrounding air. A thick layer of somber gray clouds hovered over. The trees were bare; no birds or squirrels or insects could be seen or heard, as they were hiding away in their warm nests and dens, sheltered from the chilled flurries.

At least, that’s how I’d have liked for things to be, but cities were constantly noisy, smelly, and bustling with people too busy to simply cast a smile to one another. Downtown Stohess was no different.

It was snowing, though, and the putrid smell of car exhaust or the hundreds of people around me—eager to find their destinations or take refuge in a building for warmth—couldn’t have hoped to crush my happiness rooted from that.

The ground was still too warm for the snow to stick. The moisture soaked into the sidewalks and streets, darkening it to make it look as if it was freckled. I tried to find shapes in the spots as dainty puffs of mist manifested in front of my lips on every exhale, only to disappear into thin air without a trace.

I tucked my reddened nose under my royal blue cashmere scarf in search of warmth as I walked en route to the light rail to wait for it to come around again. As I walked along, a strange squeaking sound met my ears every so often. I looked around, trying to find the source of the sound, but to no avail. The closer I got to the stop, the louder it became. I came to the sudden realization that it’s music as I moved closer. It drifted through the snow-filled air to my ears and as I made it to the stop, I saw the source to be a man, short in stature, standing just out from beneath the shelter of the station, holding a shiny mahogany violin on his left shoulder. He pulled the bow along the strings with his right hand, the left expertly finding the notes on the fingerboard to manifest a harmonious song.

I couldn’t help but smile at the scene. The song he played resonated a kind of peace throughout the chilly air—a bubble of tranquility in the otherwise chaotic city. I was immersed in his sound as I approached; warmth began to bubble up in my chest until I realized no one was paying any attention to him or his song. They were all too busy glancing at their watches, scrolling through some meaningless, mindless crap on their cell phones, tapping their feet in impatience for the light rail to make its appearance.

I stopped at the other end of the little shelter. Even if no one else would take a moment to appreciate what a beautiful thing is taking place right beside them, I would. When his song came to an end, the bow gently fell from the strings and his head dipped. Still smiling, I clapped my gloved hands together a few times in a round of applause for him, earning a few annoyed scowls from the crowd. No matter, I ignored them.

The man looked up, evidently a bit bewildered until he spotted me. His handsome features relaxed and he gave me a small nod in thanks. I nodded back, partially conveying a ‘you’re welcome’ and partially urging him to play more. However, just as the first few notes of the next song rung out, a loud, “Hey!” interrupted and grabbed, his, my, and the rest of the crowd’s attention. Our heads turned to find two police officers rushing in his direction, their hard stares and authority focused solely on the violinist.

“Kid, do you have written permission to be playing that here?” one of the officers demanded.

The man’s ‘no’ was so soft I barely heard it.

“Then you can’t be playing that here. You got one chance to scram or I’ll have to confiscate that piece of junk.” The cop indicated the violin with a nod of his beanie-covered head.

That angered both me and the violinist himself.

“It’s not a _piece of junk_ ,” he defended.

“Whatever. Scoot.”

The man’s eyes rolled and he clearly muttered something under his breath before leaning down to place the instrument back in the tattered case between his feet.

“What was that?” growled the cop, seizing his wrist. The violinist looked back up with widened eyes as he weakly attempted to free himself from the grasp. “Kid, I’ll have you know I can arrest you for—“

“He didn’t do anything wrong!”

The words were out of my mouth before I was consciously aware of what exactly it was I was doing. Still, I decided to go with it; I trotted in the direction of the scene. All three of their heads swiveled in my direction.

“What?” asked the officer, absently releasing the man’s wrist. “Excuse me?”

“He…he was just playing the violin,” I tried to reason. “He wasn’t doing any harm, and it isn’t like he was asking for any money.”

“Yeah, but it’s illegal to loiter like that if you don’t have permission from the county.”

“I-I know. But I don’t think he knew. Did you?” I asked the man.

His eyes were hard, still angry, but he shook his head.

“Yeah, but—“

“It won’t happen again, sir. And…I’ll take full responsibility if I have to.”

“So you know this guy?” The officer nodded at the violinist.

“Um…yeah, I do. We’re friends.”

The officer huffed. “Fine. I’ll let you off with a warning, but if it happens again…”

“Understood, sir.”

The policemen departed with a classic “stay out of trouble” and the murmurs of the crowd returned to normal.

“Are you alright?” I turned and asked the man, who was resuming locking away his gorgeous instrument in its case.

“Yeah,” he said without looking up. I watched as his thin, shaky fingers latched the case and wrapped around the handle before he moved back to his feet. He still didn’t meet my eyes. “Um, thank you,” he said.

“Of course,” I replied with a smile. “I thought your playing was incredible.”

“Th-thanks…” He wrapped his arms around himself and I suddenly realized what he was wearing—a black cotton sweater and tattered, dirty, ripped jeans and nothing on his feet but a pair of thick socks, one bearing a hole in the toe.

I frowned. “You must be freezing. Here.”

“No, that’s okay…”

But I was already pulling my scarf from around my neck. I reached out with it. “May I?”

His dark eyes scanned over the material in consideration. “Fine,” he mumbled. Carefully, I wrapped it around his bare neck and draped it over his small shoulders to cover as much of him as I could. I suddenly saw how small he was—at least a few inches shorter than my 5’10” and _skinny_. He practically swam in the sweater.

“Were you taking the light rail somewhere?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I…don’t have money.”

“Oh…well, then you should get home and get warm.”

I saw his hand tense around the handle of his violin case, and by his shaking and attire, it all dropped into place.

“You don’t have a home, do you?” I asked softly.

“…no.”

My heart ached a bit for the man, who still hadn’t looked at me directly, who was hunched into my scarf because, really, it was the only warmth he had.

“Well, I’m sorry…I don’t have much I can offer you, but here…” I started to unbutton my coat, the black material already dusted with tiny snowflakes. I was halfway through when his fingers reached out to stop me.

“Don’t,” he said. “You’ve already done enough for me. I can’t take your coat from you, too.”

“It’s okay,” I assure. “You can just borrow it. Tonight it’s supposed to get below zero and the storm will pick up into a blizzard. If you have this, you can make it through until tomorrow.” The familiar sound of the light rail on its tracks approached from behind. “I have to go, but you can meet me here tomorrow at the same time and give it back, okay?”

“No, really, it’s f—“

“It _is_ fine,” I agreed as I draped the coat over his trembling shoulders. “I’ll be fine. I work in a warm building.” Finally, he looked up at me with the stormiest dark blue-gray eyes I’d ever seen. My heart fluttered. “I’ll see you here tomorrow, then,” I said with a nod just as the light rail came to a halt and the doors slid open to let the passengers board. The crowd began to file on and I was at the tail end, waving over my shoulder at the violinist.

Once I was on and the doors were shut, I glanced out the window to see him still standing there, staring wide-eyed at me with the fingers of his free hand wrapped around the hem of my coat. I smiled and waved just as the vehicle took off, leaving him behind.

It might have been stupid to leave my belongings—my only coat and my favorite scarf—with some stranger, but there was something trustworthy in his eyes. And he had tried to refuse the gesture. There was no doubt he was one of the many homeless people wandering the huge city. Even if he didn’t show up the next day, at least he’d have a coat and a scarf to keep him warm for the remainder of the winter.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, the entire city was covered in snow. The streets were wet and sleek. Plows had piled the snow up on the curbs and cars were piled up much the same on the road as idiotic drivers attempted to maneuver their way through the weather. Snow continued to fall in soft flakes, though it was nothing like the blizzard that took over the town the previous night.

I walked the same path I did every day to the light rail station, and though I had the day off, I promised a certain violinist I’d meet him there that morning. I was never one to break a promise, even if it was to a complete stranger.

As I crossed the street to the station, I didn’t see him right away, but with a little scouring of the area I found his short stature standing against the chain link fence several yards back from the station itself. In one hand he held his violin; my coat and scarf were draped over the opposite arm. His head was bowed, the snow dusted his dark hair.

“Hey!” I called in greeting with a smile as I approached. He glanced up and took a small step in my direction. As he held out my belongings, I saw that he was wearing the same thing as the previous day. His fingers, wrapped around the fabric, were reddened, and I can tell the early effects of hypothermia and frostbite were settling in. With just a pair of socks, I was sure his feet were the same way, if not worse from walking on the cold, wet ground.

“Thanks for letting me borrow your stuff,” he said quietly. Even his voice shook.

“No problem,” I said. I took the coat, but left the scarf. He tried to hand it to me, but I refused with a shake of my head and pushed his hand back toward himself. “Keep it. I’ve got more at home.”

“I…” His eyes narrowed; his mouth opened and closed repeatedly as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite form the words. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s…it’s not mine.”

“It is now,” I insisted.

It seemed like he wanted to argue more, but he didn’t. With another soft, ‘thanks’, he set his violin down and shakily attempted to wrap it back around his neck. It was a messy job, so I lent a hand and did it the same way I had before.

“Hey, do you wanna get some coffee with me?” I asked as I pulled my coat on.

His eyes narrowed in confusion again. “I told you I don’t have any money.”

“I know. But lucky for you, I do.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t ask you to do any more for me,” he said.

“You’re not asking, though. I’m offering. Besides, I’d like to get to know you better.”

His thin brows knitted together. “Why?”

“Huh? What do you mean, why?”

“I just…don’t understand why you’re being so nice to me. To most people, shit like me is on the same level as trash in the gutter.”

I looked him up and down. “You don’t look like trash to me. Come on. I know you could use a hot drink.”

“…Alright.”

A few minutes later, we boarded the light rail. I paid for our fare and moved to an unoccupied seat. The man—whose name I suddenly realize I don’t yet know—slid into the spot beside me.

“Can I know your name?” I asked.

He looked up from reveling in the warmth, rubbing his hands together with his violin between his knees. “What? My name?” I nodded. “It’s Levi,” he said.

“Sweet. I’m Eren,” I told him, and spelled it out so he didn’t make the mistake of thinking it was ‘Aaron’ as so many people often did.

Levi nodded but said nothing. He continued to rub his palms together, not noticing as I continued to look him over. He was young, but he couldn’t be any younger than I was. In fact, he might have been older. It was clear he’d been through a lot, too, judging simply by the distant look in his eyes and the way he carried himself. He likely hadn’t bathed in a while, either; his black hair was stringy as it hung over his forehead in clumps. The tips of his nose and ears were red from the cold, just as his fingers and surely his toes in their tattered, dirty, wet socks.

 _Socks_. Shoot.

“Okay if we take a small detour?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he agreed. I led him off the rail a stop sooner than originally planned and l weaved through the people down the strip mall. Levi kept his face tucked under the scarf as we walked, the way I often did, and I couldn’t help but notice how close he stayed to me.

Just a few blocks from the station, a small shoe store was situated. It was cheap, yet the shoes were good quality. The one running the place was a nice old woman who even crafted some of the shoes by hand.

“If we’re going for coffee, you’ll need some shoes,” I explained. “It’s proper etiquette.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I won’t let you buy me any shoes. Coffee…sure. But not something expensive like shoes. Or anything else.”

“They’re cheap, though, and—“

“Look…I owe you a debt already. But I’ll never be able to repay any of it because I…I’m a failure. I shouldn’t even be letting you help me this much, and I’m sorry for wasting your time. Thank you for everything, but I can’t accept anything else.”

Swiftly, he turned and began to walk away, but I was quicker and took hold of his wrist before he could make it too far. A gasp drew in between his lips and he turned, wide-eyed and confused.

“Please,” I said. “I don’t want anything in return…except maybe a good conversation over a cup of coffee. That’s all I ask.”

“But I…I don’t have the right to take advantage of you like that…”

I smiled a bit. “You’re not taking advantage of me if I _want_ to do it.”

He came back a little. “I don’t understand…why…”

I let my gloved hand slip into his cold one and squeezed gently. “You don’t have to understand. Just come with.”

“But, Eren…”

My heart did the fluttery thing again, and I decided I liked the way my name sounded in his voice.

“Please, Levi?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he hesitated. “…Okay, but you still can’t buy me any shoes.”

“Then I’ll buy myself some, and you can have these.” I pointed at the converse already on my feet. They were the only pair I had, but I didn’t mind buying more. I’d been meaning to, anyway.

Shoe shopping took but fifteen minutes and we were on our way down the sidewalk again. My old shoes were a little big for Levi’s smaller feet, but I knew they were much warmer than plain old tattered socks and my new pair of converse fit nicely.

The Brewery Corner was a coffee and tea shop I frequented, especially on my days off, located at the corner of 13th and Trost Boulevard. It was a small shop, a family owned business, and, to my liking, not too awfully popular. The interior had a homey feel, with artwork decorating the wooden paneling of the walls, soft yellow lighting, and comfortable, cushioned chairs. Soft music rung from the stereo adjacent to the counter and the pleasant scent of brewing coffee was always the best greeter when you opened the door.

Levi and I sauntered in to find it mostly empty of anyone but the barista, the manager, and one or two customers. As we neared the counter, I told Levi he could order whatever he pleased. I placed my order first—simply a large chai tea—and Levi ordered something small. I knew it’s because he doesn’t want me spending any more money on him than necessary, but I didn’t say anything. At the last second, I added a chocolate chip muffin and a piece of lemon bread to the order. Once we had our drinks and the little paper bags with the pastries, we made our way over to one of the booths on the far end of the shop.

Levi was timid as he set his drink down and slid into the seat, placing his violin under the chair and beneath his feet. I could tell he was particularly protective of the instrument, and I couldn’t say I blamed him.

“Pick one,” I told him, placing the pastries in the center of the table. He lifted a brow. “Whichever you like.”

“That’s okay.”

“Come on,” I urged. “I won’t eat both, even if I take one home. So if you don’t eat one, it’ll go to waste.” It was a lie, of course; I had such a sweet tooth that I could have stuffed both of them in right there, as well as my drink, even if I would regret it later.

He huffed. “I don’t understand you,” he muttered as he took—typically—the smaller of the two, being the lemon bread.

“Not used to people being generous, huh?”

“Not unless they want something in return,” he said. His shaking fingers lifted the cup to his lips for a small sip. I could tell as soon as he tasted the blend of coffee and cream because his generally stoic face relaxed into something akin to bliss while his eyes reflected wonder.

“Good?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

I waved him off. “No issue,” I assured. “So, where’d you learn to play the violin?”

“I taught myself.”

“Wow, really? That’s amazing. You’re really good.”

He shrugged. “I’m alright.”

I rolled my eyes. “Typical.”

“What?”

“Artists are always so humble, thinking they’re not so great when they’re really fantastic.”

Levi blinked at me a few times before lowering his gaze, hands wrapping around his cup.

After that, I launched us into a conversation. Sometimes I would have to coax answers out of him, but the longer we talked, the easier it became, and eventually it wasn’t so one-sided. Levi turned out to be a lot more steely than I’d initially presumed, but there was a passionate side to him I knew he tried to hide behind a stoic, hard mask. But the hard mask was practiced and shaped through years of having been through a lot. But he was strong. Tenacious. A fighter. The more I learned, the more I came to like him and enjoy his presence.

Over the next several days, we fell into a routine that didn’t stray far from the first day—we’d meet at the light rail station and took a ride further into the city, stop and get coffee and a snack, and talked for hours until the sun went down.

On the day I came bearing an extra pair of jeans, a pair too small for me and unworn for months, I could see it took everything Levi had not to burst into tears. Of course, he refused them at first, even told me he didn’t need them, but I always managed to say something to get him to accept what I offered.

“If you don’t take them, I’ll just have to throw them out anyway,” I said with a nonchalant shrug, to which he sighed and accepted the article of clothing with a muttered, embarrassed, ‘thanks’ before we made the journey back to The Brewery Corner. He changed in the men’s room once there.

“How do they fit?” I asked.

“Fine,” he quipped before sitting across from me at our usual table.

We launched into our conversations until the manager informed us the café was about to close for the night, and we trekked back outside where the weather wasn’t much warmer than the day we met, but where it hadn’t snowed since.

“Have you heard of Lindsey Stirling?” I asked him suddenly as we stopped at the light rail station that would take us back the way we came.

“Lindsey who?” he asked.

“Stirling,” I repeated. “She plays the violin, like you. She’s really good. I think you’d enjoy her music.”

“Can you show me?”

“Of course.”

We boarded the light rail and found a comfortable seat. As I pulled up the playlist on my phone, Levi situated his violin between his knees like usual, and I offered him the headphone opposite the one I’d already placed in my ear. He copied the action, a bit confused as if he’d never seen such a thing before. Grinning subtly, I tapped the song _Night Vision_ , one of my favorites.

I couldn’t help but watch Levi’s face as he listened, staring absently at the shoes I gave him as the song built up. Faintly, his fingers began to gently tap the top of the case in time to the beat, and eventually his eyes fell closed.

When the song drew to a close, he glanced up at me, a look of newfound wonder in his blue-gray irises.

“She’s good huh?” I asked.

He nodded without our gazes breaking. I smiled a little more as Ascendance began, and he seemed totally entrapped by the music once again. I, however, was entrapped by him, and the way his eyes were alight with awe and admiration.

And just as _Take Flight_ began, it felt like a scene right out of a movie as our heads bowed together at the same moment and our lips pressed softly together.

It took a few seconds for me to come to my senses and pull back, automatically covering my mouth with my hand eyes widened. “O-oops?” I mumbled stupidly, not knowing if I should have apologized or smiled or laughed or run screaming or what.

But Levi? He simply pulled my hand from my mouth and kissed me again.

~ ~ ~

“And you lived happily ever after!”

“That we did,” I tell the girl, smiling as I tuck her the rest of the way into her bed. She smiles right back up at me, showing the gap in her teeth and the dimples in her rosy cheeks. Her wildly curly brunette locks fan out around her face on her pillow.

“Will you tell me the story again tomorrow?” she asks hopefully, blue eyes sparkling.

“We'll see,” I chuckle, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “For now it's time for you to get some sleep.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

“Night, darling.”

“I love you, Daddy,” she murmurs.

“I love you, too.”

I move to the switch, flick the light off, and shut the door behind me as I exit the room, leaving the five-year-old to the wild, unrealistic dreams I know she has every night. I walk the three or four steps it takes me to get to the next door, slightly ajar and from which comes a dim yellowish light.

I gently ease it open a bit further and peek in. He sits in the oak rocking chair, gently pushing himself back and forth with one foot while the other leg is crossed over, the way he always sits. His gaze is cast downward with a look of absolute bliss held in his handsome features, his raven black locks hanging over his forehead the way it always has, the tiniest, rarest of smiles just barely hinted on his pale rosy lips.

The baby in his arms suckles on the nipple of the bottle he holds, gazing up at him with drooping eyelids. The child's hair is the same color as his - black but thin, swirled over the delicate skin of his scalp.

I can't help but smile at the scene and look a little longer before interrupting.

“Knock knock,” I finally murmur, edging the door open just a tad further.

The man in the chair looks up, his blue-gray eyes automatically finding my own in the dim light. This is all the invitation I need to move all the way into the room and tiptoe over to him. I kneel next to the rocking chair, still smiling.

“How’s he doing?” I ask. The sound of my voice catches the infant’s attention and his sleepy green eyes shift to my face.

“Almost done. Just needs to be burped,” Levi tells me softly. He continues to gently rock back and forth until eventually the baby’s suckling has stopped altogether and he’s on the verge of falling asleep right then and there.

Silently, Levi hands the bottle to me and lifts the child up onto his shoulder, gently patting his back rhythmically while I simply watch with a blissful kind of warmth settled in my stomach. Burping takes but a few minutes before Levi stands and pads quietly over to the crib on the other side of the room. I stand and follow. Our eight-month-old son has already fallen asleep on his shoulder and barely stirs as he’s situated down in the crib by Levi’s gentle, capable hands.

I’ve discarded the bottle on the top of the dresser and moved in behind him, sliding my arms around his waist and taking both his hands between my own, holding them gently to warm them up. (Levi’s hands are always cold during the colder months; I’ve always taken pleasure in warming them for him. His skin, particularly on his palms and the pads of his fingers, is rough, calloused from years of wear and tear and playing the violin.) He leans back against me, threading his fingers between mine, the silver bands on our left ring fingers clicking faintly together as we watch the child in the crib sleep soundly.

“She asleep?” he murmurs after a moment.

Mm-hmm,” I murmur back.

“Good.”

“And you?”

“Me?”

“Are you ready for bed?”

“Hmph. It's early,” he complains, nudging my ribs with his elbow. I chuckle and nuzzle into the top of his head. He smells nice; sweet, in a masculine way.

Slowly, he turns in the circle that's my embrace and gazes up at me, eyes soft, his hands trailing delicately up my chest.

“What?” I ask.

“I'm not ready for _sleep_ ,” he says, voice low, coated by a hint of seduction. “But I could definitely be ready for bed…”

A sly grin finds its way onto my face. “I'm okay with that,” I say.

Levi stretches up onto his toes to kiss me, soft, warm, and slow. It heats up the way a faucet does, or the weather as time moves us from winter to summer months - gradually, until his legs are around my waist and it's far too heated to continue in a nursery of all places. So, without a second thought, I stride from the room, beloved in arms, and across the hall into our own, where the door swings shut and latches with a _click_ behind us.

**Author's Note:**

> This was sort of a spur of the moment little oneshot that popped into my head when I woke up on a snowy morning. It's kinda lame, I know, haha, but I hope you enjoyed it! :)  
> (And if there are any errors, please let me know 'cause I didn't fully edit like I normally do.)


End file.
